Slowly, silently, the door began to fall shut behind him. The light from the hallway pinched off inch by inch until only darkness stood between them. The barely audible click of the latch sent a cold rush of adrenaline through her limbs.
Her internal warning system went off, and she knew—knew in the way of instincts and reflexes and urges, knew with a clarity beyond understanding—what he had planned for tonight. For her. The images flickered through her mind almost like memories, but they were of things to come. Him forcing her facedown over her bed. Him taking what she wouldn’t give. Him making it hurt. Him making her bleed. Him marking her as his.
Fear licked down her spine and bit into her guts, but she refused to cower before him. She wouldn’t be an easy victim. Not her. Never her. Never again. And if he didn’t know that, it just went to prove how much he sucked at his job.
She would handle this. She’d been through worse. She’d survived worse. This time, all she needed to do was get to the hallway where the lights were on and the cameras were rolling and there was always someone at the nurses’ station. Ten feet. That’s all that stood between her and safety.
She walked toward him. Better to be on the offensive instead of being forced to react. She put an extra sway to her hips and prayed he’d be too distracted to realize she was going for the door—not him.
He watched her, that dimpled predatory smile never leaving his lips. Her heart somehow exited her chest, floating up into her head and pounding in her ears. She stopped a mere foot away from him.
Calm. Keep calm. Breathe in slow. Exhale slow. She could freak all she wanted later. But not now. Not when it really mattered.
Slowly, she shifted to his side, a mere two feet from the door. No sudden movements. Not yet. Not until she knew she could grab the handle and get out into the hallway before he stopped her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His words were liquid nitrogen to her blood. She froze.
He turned to face her, moving farther into her space. He wasn’t much taller than she was, his dead eyes and taunting mouth right on the level of hers—only inches away.
Do something. Do anything. Don’t let him touch you. Her mind screamed the words to be heard over her heart thundering in her ears.
With every ounce of force she possessed, she rammed her knee into his knobby knockers.
He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t move. Didn’t react.
Had she missed?
He struck out with his fist so fast she didn’t have a chance to flinch, block, or move. The impact sent a shock wave of agony through her face, the sensation so intense she couldn’t feel the epicenter. She stumbled backward, lost her footing, and landed on her ass. The impact vibrated through every bone in her body like a plucked violin string.
Dr. Payne bent double, cupping his pulverized parts. He shuffle-walked the one step to her, drew back his foot, and slammed it into her ribs. Air whoofed out of her. She collapsed back, rolling and writhing to escape the fire in her side.
How long she lay there, she didn’t know. But suddenly, Dr. Payne’s face was in her line of sight, and his intentions were in her head. Her mind flashed through images of the stark walls of Ward A, of herself drugged beyond awareness, of Dr. Payne amusing himself with her mind and body.
She tried to move toward the door, but her body wasn’t able to comply. She was lost in an inferno of pain.
Dr. Payne ruffled his hands through his hair, making it messy. He pulled at his perfectly tucked-in shirt, making it sloppy, then knelt down next to her.
She scooted away from him, but he grabbed her hand, forced her fingers open, gripping her middle finger in his fist. Was this some new form of torture? He yanked her finger to his face, jammed the nail against his cheek, then scraped it down over his skin, leaving a red trough of blood. He slammed her hand against the floor, but she had reached a familiar place. A numb place. A place where physical pain no longer hurt her. He could slit her throat like Killion had, and she wouldn’t feel it.
He stood and hit the panic button, then pulled another syringe from his pocket.
“You were the reason Bo acted out tonight. You stormed off from group without completing your assignment. I came here to check on you. You attacked me. You called me Killion. You’ve had a break from reality.”
The whimpers and whines of a wounded animal filled the room. The sound came from her, and no matter how hard she tried to shush herself, something deep inside had broken and wouldn’t be soothed.
He raised the syringe over his head and slammed it down with all the force of a large hunting knife, stabbing her in the thigh. She watched as the clear fluid emptied into her body.
“I think it’s time we stepped up your treatment. ECT should help. I’ll plug you in a couple times. See how you behave toward me then.”
A wave crashed over her, but it wasn’t a wave, it was her body. No, it wasn’t her body moving, it was the drug hitting her system, pounding its way to her mind. The world went gray. She fought to stay on the surface, to not let the sedative pull her under, but the world went dark and she drowned under the drug’s effect.
Chapter 3
Hybristophiliac—A person who finds murderers and rapists sexually appealing.
—Fern Boyd, PhD, Kissing Killers: The Psychology Behind Those Who Love Deviants
Three days later…
The moon beamed pearlescent rays across the sky. But none of the beauty touched the expansive lawn around the Center. The grounds were tarnished with a hopelessness that could never be polished away. How could anyone get better when the environment itself sucked at your soul?
Cain hated the place. Had hated it from that first night his father brought him to work on the night shift. Cain had been just five years old and was forced to split the duties—emptying the garbage, mopping floors, cleaning toilets, scrubbing vomit and feces off the walls on Ward A. By far not the worst of his childhood memories.